Angel Hunter
by Rosalie2425
Summary: Angels are known to trick humans into going into dark woods, then killing them for the fun of it. So angels were highly mistrusted, and hunted for sports and glory. John Winchester is one of the best angel hunters, and teaches his sons Sam and Dean everything he knows. Inspired by
1. The Hunt

"Angels are lying, clever, evil things that'll kill you if you don't kill them first," John Winchester had always said to his sons, Dean and Sam. Angels were known to trick humans into going into dark woods, then killing them for the fun of it. So angels were highly mistrusted, and hunted for sports and glory. The bigger and more beautiful the wings, the better.

John Winchester was one of the most renowned angel hunters. He'd shot down angels of all sizes, some with small, fragile wings, and some with large, glorious wings. John would always carve the wings out of the dead angel's back and keep the wings as a reminder, like a hunter would keep the rack of a buck. As a child, Dean was largely fascinated with the wings hanging around the house. The soft, downy feathers always intrigued his younger mind to where he would spend days just feeling the different feather types of the angels. John taught Dean everything he needed to know. Where to shoot an angel to make them suffer as they die, where to shoot the arrow in the wing so that they were incapable of flight and the most pain was caused, how to track a hurt angel. Dean kept all these things to memory and would practice regularly, shooting trees and wildlife. When Dean turned 16, he was supposed to go on his first angel hunt, to kill his first angel. Dean had awoken in the wee hours of the morning, making sure everything was prepared and ready. As Dean was packing the bows and arrows, his father entered his room. "Dean," John said, his face dark and voice gravely.

Dean turned and beamed at his dad, "I'm almost done packing and we can get going as soon as I get-" "Listen, Dean…we can't go hunting this morning. Maybe…maybe later tonight. I have to go somewhere." John said, his face blank.

Dean's face fell, his jaw slack and his eyes glowing with disappointment, "But…where are you going?"

John simply shook his head and walked out to his car, Dean following like a puppy. Dean watched as his dad got into the car and drove away, and Dean waited, at that exact place by the window, for two days straight.

But his dad never did come back for his first hunt.

"Sam, get yur ass up! We've got a hunt awaitin us!" Dean shouted through the house, hearing Sam stirring in his bedroom. Today was Sam's birthday, he was turning 16, and Dean was taking him on his first angel hunt. Dean had been deprived of his first hunt with his father, and refused to let that happen to Sam.

Dean had gone hunting after his father had left, but he has yet to actually kill an angel. He's wounded many but never managed to track them down and finish them. But today, Dean had a feeling he was going to get his first kill.

Sam emerged from his bedroom, dressed and looking tired, but his eyes shone with quiet excitement. Dean already had everything packed, too eager to wait for Sam. "Lets go!" Dean said, loping outside and jumping into the Impala, Sam following.

As they drove, Dean could feel Sam's excitement grow next to him. The more excited Sam got, the more eager Dean got.

When they finally arrived at their hunting grounds, they were both almost bouncing with excitement. They got out of the impala, Sam grabbing a crossbow and Dean grabbing his normal, wooden bow his father had given him. They both put their quivers on and headed out into the forest.

It was eerily silent and dark in the forest as Dean and Sam crept along, bows and arrows ready. Dean was more attuned to hearing quiet noises than Sam, so when Dean heard a quiet conversation not far off, he put a hand up to his mouth to show Sam to be quiet and follow him.

Dean crept through some low brush, crouching so he'd stay hidden, Sam almost on his knees behind Dean, trying to stay hidden.

When they finally arrived at the clearing, Dean held up a hand for Sam to stop, and Dean surveyed the area, finding what he was looking for.

Two angels were crouched low to the ground, next to a tree, talking quietly in what seemed like an argument. One had large black wings; the other had smaller, golden looking wings. Dean tried to focus on what they were saying.

"Listen, Gabriel, we need to leave. These are hunting grounds and it is too dangerous for us to be here long." The one with dark wings whispered, looking around frantically.

"Shut your trap, Cas, I'm looking for something." The other said, digging through some leaves. Dean smirked at how awesome it was they'd found two angels; one for him, one for Sammy.

Dean turned and mouthed to Sam 'I've got the black one, you get the orange.' Sam nodded and silently crept forward till he was beside Dean, and he readied his crossbow, aiming it as Dean held his bow up, pulling the arrow back so his hand brushed his cheek and aimed at the black winged angel.

Now that Dean was really looking at the angel, it looked kind of beautiful. If he killed it, he'd have an amazing pair of wings to show off to his friends.

Sam shot first, hitting the shorter angel in the neck. It fell to the ground with a shocked expression plastered on its face, and before Dean could shoot, the dark winged angel jerked towards the ground, looking horrified. Dean was readjusting his bow when the angel's head snapped up and he inhaled deeply, and he turned his head to glare hard at Dean. He stood up at full height, a good 6'0", and spread his wings out completely. Dean was temporarily stunned by how HUGE they were. Bigger than any his dad had gotten. They expanded from the angel's back and arched in the air gracefully, pitch black and glistening like a raven's. The angel looked furious as Dean shot an arrow into its right wing, right at the junction where it arches up. The angel cried out in pain and looked at Dean, its expression almost hurt. It grabbed the other angel, whose head had lolled on its neck. Dean knew what the face of a dead angel looked like. He'd seen it plenty of times with his father's kills, and this angel was dead. Eyes glazed over, mouth slack, body limp. Sam had shot the arrow perfectly. The angel let out a strangled cry of, "GABRIEL."

It sounded like a sad, cornered angel screaming for death to come. Dean stood up and grabbed Sam's arm. "Dude…we need to get out of here." "But my kill-" Sam began, "NO, COME ON." Dean yelled, turning and running back to the car as fast as he could, the angel's cries still echoing through the forest as they got into the Impala and threw the car into reverse.


	2. Changing of Tides

"Dean, I killed that angel! Why didn't you let me get it?" Sam asked for the twentieth time. "Dude, did you not see that other angel?" "Yeah, its wings were huge. So what?"

"No, I mean, did you see how angry it was? Angels are powerful, and usually the bigger the wings the more powerful. He was about to go on a rampage." Dean explained, his heart still pounding.

"Oh…" Sam said.

Dean felt bad. Sam had gotten his first kill on his first hunt, which was pretty awesome, and he hadn't even gotten to keep the wings. "Hey, Sammy. It was a pretty fuckin awesome shot, though." Dean said, smirking and Sam's face lit up again, "Dude, I know!"

"Go get cleaned up and I'll fix something." Sam nodded and walked to the bathroom and Dean walked into the kitchen, leaning on the counter. He swore he could still hear the cries of that angel in the woods.

The next morning, Dean awoke with determination in his eyes. He hadn't slept at all last night, his vision haunted with thoughts of the other angel. Dean knew he had to have those wings. So he dragged himself out of bed, and as he showered and packed, the only thing he could think of were those wings, spread out to their full capacity.

When Dean walked through the kitchen, Sam was eating breakfast. "Where ya goin?" He asked, looking Dean over. "Hunting," he simply replied. Sam's face lit up, "Oh man, hold on, lemme go get dressed and I'll-"

"No, I mean alone, Sammy. I'm gonna go look for your angel and the other one." Sam looked at Dean, his face confused then skeptical and suspicious. "Are you…" he trailed off and Dean looked at Sam, confused. Then it hit him. The betrayal Sam was trying to hide behind his eyes, "Sammy, no. I promise to you, I'm coming back. I'm doing an overnight hunt but I swear to you I'm coming back. I wont be like dad."

Sam's face cleared a little, though he still looked a little skeptical. "Okay, be safe."

"Yeah whatever, ya bitch." Dean said, smirking as he ruffled Sam's shaggy hair. "Hey, get out of here, jerk."

When Dean arrived at the hunting grounds, his heart was pounding. His blood was pumping with adrenaline and fear. He walked back to the scene where Sam had shot and killed the angel, but Dean was positive they wouldn't be stupid enough to return there. He jumped down into the clearing, looking around. Finally, he found what he was looking for, drops of blood. He looked to his left and saw more. He crouched by instinct and began following the trail.

After following the small trail of blood for most of the day, it finally stopped in a smaller clearing with a large pile of wood in it. Dean could see the ginger angel's body lying next to the pile of wood, but no sight of the other angel. From what Dean had heard from the screaming, the angels were close, so the other wouldn't leave the body without burying it. Dean knew it'd be back soon to bury the dead angel, so he hunkered down in the tall grass and waited.

He must have been dozing because he was awoken by the sound of feather's ruffling. Dean stirred slightly, trying to look through the grass at what was happening. Dean could see the dark angel was back, and he'd almost completely buried the other and it was pitch black except for the moonlight. Jesus, how long had he been asleep?

The angel threw a few more clods of dirt over the spot before sitting on the pile of wood, his shoulder hunched and wings lowered. He noticed that his previously shot arrowed was still logged in the angel's wing. Dean brought his bow up and drew an arrow out of his quiver, aiming at the angel's back, and letting the arrow fly. It hit the angel in the shoulder and it hissed, wincing. Dean managed to hit him in the back again before it flew around and faced Dean, its face ashen. Dean could see the anger registering then the recognition and then the defeat. The angel crumpled to the ground, looking worn out. Dean stood and jogged over, arrow aimed at the angel's head. Dean was standing right over the angel, about to release his arrow, thinking of how excited Sam would be, when the angel turned its head and met Dean's eyes. Dean was momentarily shocked at how blue the angel's eyes were. They shone brightly and seemed to glow. Dean finally paused and looked the angel over. Realizing it was a male, and shirtless. He had scars littering his side and chest, along with Dean's arrows in him. His hair was black and mussed. He looked at Dean with an expression of just pure agony and closed his eyes, rolling his head back over.

Dean hesitated, his heart pounding. He couldn't do this. Could he? He had to, his dad did, and Sam did, so of course he could.

But the angel's eyes had changed something. He felt like if he shot the angel, he'd be killing a human. It was strange, but then his father's words echoed in his mind, 'Angels are lying, clever, evil things that'll kill you if you don't kill them first."

But maybe some angels were different. This one wasn't trying to trick Dean at all. He lowered his bow, suddenly so unsure of himself. The angel turned its head back around and peaked open a tired eye, looking Dean over questioningly.

"I can't do it," Dean muttered as a reply. The angel blinked slowly before letting out a wretched sob and closing his eyes.

Dean slung his bow around his back and put his arrow back, starring at the angel.

Was this right? People have killed angels for years, long before Dean was born. They needed to. Angels deceived humans and killed them at any chance they got. Or, at least, that's what Dean was always taught. Maybe people just jumped to conclusions too quick. Or maybe they were right and he was being deceived right now.

Dean's head ached when he realized that the angel was now unconscious in a pool of blood. "Shit!" Dean muttered, picking the angel up, its wings dragging on the ground as Dean hurried to the Impala, trying to stop the bleeding as he ran.


	3. Help You

Dean had rushed to the nearest town after getting the bleeding stopped, and booked a cheap motel room. Dean carried the angel to the room and opened the door, setting the angel on its stomach on the bed. Dean's mind was in panic mode as he searched the motel for a first aid kit, finding one in the bathroom, and then looked the angel over. He had no idea how to go about healing an angel, seeing as he'd grown up being taught to kill them. Dean leaned over the angel and gently grabbed the end of one of his arrows, and tried his best to gently pull it out. It came out covered in blood, and caused more blood to start running out of the wound. Dean cursed under his breath as he grabbed the cloth and dabbed at the wound. He gently sewed up the first one, his work not the best, but decent. He got the second arrow out and managed to sew it up fine as well. Then he stared at the arrow in the wing. It looked infected and painful, and Dean felt a stab of guilt. He grabbed the arrow's shaft, thinking it best to simply break it in half and pull out each end from that side, but as soon as he touched the arrow, the angel jerked awake. He sat up, alert and confused, looking around the room before his eyes landed on Dean. He turned his head to the side, looking baffled, but then he seemed to recognize Dean and his wings flew up and puffed up, trying to make the angel look bigger and stronger than he actually was. His right wing was lower than the left, and looked like it hurt.

"Look, calm down." Dean reached a hand for the angel but it snarled deep in its chest and flapped its wings, trying to wave Dean away, looking like a trapped animal. "Chill out. I saved you, okay?" The angel looked hesitant for a second, but then it returned to looking enraged. "You probably don't trust me, and you shouldn't, but I just couldn't kill you okay? I mean, I would've LOVED to have your wings hanging in my house, because they're gorgeous, but I couldn't. I'm a wuss." Dean said, rolling his eyes. The angel still looked doubtful. "I took the arrows out of your back and sewed you up, even though I put them there." The angel blinked and looked troubled for a second as he reached a hesitant hand behind his back to rub over the two sewed up wounds. It looked at Dean for a while, seeming to seize him up, before it lowered its wings slightly. "Good, now, listen. I still need to get the arrow out of your wing. It's gonna hurt but-" at the mention of the its wing, the angel growled and jumped from the bed to a chair by the bed, perched on the back of the chair, a little higher up.

Dean sighed, exhausted. "Its really infected and I know it hurts like hell, that's why I have to get it out for you! Just let me do it," Dean reached for the angel but it slammed its good wing into Dean's hand with a lot of power, and probably leaving a bruise. Dean drew back before spitting out, "FINE! Get infected and die! See if I care!" The angel blinked and looked at him, his eyes torn between hostility and curiosity. "I'm going to bed, "Dean mumbled, turning the lamp off and plopping on the bed and yanking the covers over him. He was exhausted and irritated at the stubborn angel and honestly just wanted a good nights sleep.

So as soon as Dean laid his head down on the pillow, he was out like a light.

Dean was awoken by the sound of low grunting. The voice was deep and gravelly and sounded frustrated. Dean stretched and glanced at the bedside clock. 6:24 in the morning. He looked around the motel room, confused. Why had he come here? Something about a hunt…then it hit him. The angel he'd saved. He sat up and turned his head towards the grunting, seeing the angel still perched on the back of the chair, but it had its right wing drawn close to him, and it was trying to get the arrow it. It kept grunting and hissing in pain, and couldn't seem to find a way to get it out without it hurting badly.

"Let me help you take out, it'll hurt less," Dean murmured, his voice thick with sleep. The angel's head swiveled around to stare at Dean. It looked him over before returning to its work. Dean sighed heavily and stood up, running a hand through his hair and stretching again. He walked over to the angel, reaching out for the injured wing and it hissed at him, scooting closer towards the other side of the chair. Dean grunted, frustrated that the angel wouldn't let him touch it, and reached again, this time the angel slapped his hand away.

"You're insufferable," Dean muttered, holding his hand to his chest. "I'm getting a shower," he mumbled, grabbing his duffle bag and walking into the bathroom. He turned the water on and stripped off his clothes. He needed to text Sam and let him know Dean was fine and would be home later than he thought. He stepped under the spray of the shower, relaxing under the warmth. Dean had no idea what he was going to do about the angel. He wanted to help it heal then let it go, but then someone else would just shoot and kill it. Oddly enough, Dean had become a little attached to it. Even though the angel refused to let Dean touch it, he felt protective over it. It wasn't mean or spiteful; it was just scared and hurt. It didn't deserve to die. Dean could hear a loud yelp from the room and sighed heavily. He turned the shower off and grabbed one of the coarse towels, drying himself off. He pulled some clean clothes from the duffel; he always packed an extra pair of clothes, and slid them on, putting the old ones into the bag. He exited the bathroom and dropped the duffel by the door. He looked at the angel, who was now sitting on the bed, his wing bleeding and the arrow on the floor. "Jesus Christ," Dean muttered, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and walking towards the bed. The angel saw Dean and growled low in its chest, a wounded, cornered animal. "Seriously, cut the crap. If I wanted to kill you I would've already done it. I'm trying to _help _you, ya moron." The angel looked at Dean, his expression bewildered, but he let Dean crawl on the bed and gently push the towel against the feather. The angel winced and drew its wing in a little, but Dean kept the towel there.

Dean reached for the first aid kit on the bedside table, where he'd left it after last night, and set it on the bed. He removed the towel and inspected the wound. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and muttered, "Damn, that looks bad." He glanced at the angel, who was watching him intensely, and suddenly a pang of guilt hit him. He removed some peroxide from the box and poured it on the wound. The angel hissed but kept still, the peroxide cleaning and disinfecting. "I'm…really sorry about shooting at you," Dean muttered, not able to look at the angel as he started to dig through the kit. "I just, wanted to live up to my dad's expectations, even if he's not here anymore. I wanted to prove I'm not worthless and I can be as great as he was. But I can't…" Dean was rambling and he knew it. He found the butterfly bandages he was looking for and applied them on the wound, pushing the edges closer together to help the healing process speed up. When he was done, he sat back and admired his handiwork. "There. Just try not to stretch your wing out to full capacity until that wound is fully closed, got it?" Dean looked at the angel and it nodded, slowly. "I'm Dean, by the way," he murmured. The angel looked him over before returning his gaze to Dean's face. "Don't talk much, do you?"

The angel just continued its eerie stare. Dean coughed, squirming under the gaze, "Well, you should rest," Dean stated, getting off the bed as the angel gave him a suspicious look. Dean rolled his eyes and muttered, "I've got to go find some food and make a call. You can sleep while I'm gone, that way you know I won't kill you in your sleep or anything."

Dean grabbed the Impala's keys and walked out, leaving the angel looking surprised and confused.


	4. Regrets

There was a small diner five minutes from the motel. Dean had sat at a corner booth for two hours, just thinking, before even ordering a burger and coffee. He couldn't even enjoy his food because his mind was completely elsewhere, thinking of the angel at the motel. What was he even doing? He was saving the angels life, obviously, but then what? Let it back out into the wild for someone else to kill it? He couldn't do that. Dean wasn't sure why he felt protective over it. He'd grown attached to the dark hair and pained blue eyes, and he knew that any other hunter with a sane mind would kill the angel with the beautiful, large wings. But if Dean couldn't let it back into the wild, then what? Take it home to Sammy? He couldn't do that. What would he say? 'Hey Sam, I know were angel hunters and stuff, but this is my new angel friend who'll be living with us for probably forever because I can't let it die, but don't worry, we'll still kill other angels, just not this one.'

Dean's head ached and he just wished he would've shot the arrow through the angel's head the first time he'd seen it.

More than anything, he wished his dad were here to help him and make his decisions for him. Because he couldn't make this one. Dean ordered a to-go plate and paid for his food and the other order, then walked outside and pulled his phone out. He dialed the house's number and waited. Every time the phone would ring, Dean would think of something that could've happened to Sam in his absence, but finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a familiar voice said, "Hello?"

"Oh, hey Sam," Dean murmured, relief evident in his tone. "Oh, Dean. Where are you? I thought you were going to be back by morning." Sam sounded worried and it made Dean dismayed to hear it, and angry. Angry at himself for have going on the hunt in the first place, for saving that damned angel.

"Yeah, sorry. Something came up. I'll be home soon, okay? I'll call everyday to check on you, so don't do anything stupid," Dean could hear Sam's eye roll, and when Sam spoke there was affection in his tone, "Yeah, whatever. See ya soon, Dean."

"Bye Sammy."

"Bye Dean."

Dean went back inside and picked up the to-go order. He honestly had no idea what angels ate, considering they lived in the forest, or if they even ate at all, but he had ordered the angel a burger and fries and was on his way back to the motel. He started to worry if the angel was flapping his wings and opening his wounds, hurting itself unintentionally. Dean was expecting the room to be destroyed and covered in blood, so when he opened the door and saw the angel spread across the bed, one wing curled upwards towards its head and the other hanging off the bed, he was pretty surprised. Dean set the food on the small table in the corner of the room and cautiously walked over to the bed to make sure none of the wounds had been reopened. The angel's wing hanging off the bed twitched when Dean walked by and Dean stopped, glancing to see if the angel was awake but its breathing remained steady. Dean crouched next to the wing, looking for the wound and finding it, the bandages still in tact. Dean stood and leaned over the bed, looking for the shoulder wounds, and finding the other wing was covering them. Gently, he brushed the feathers out of the way. The angel murmured and shifted below him, and Dean froze, leaning over the bed with one hand extended towards the angel, but it never woke. Its shoulder was now exposed and the hunter could see that the shoulder wounds were healing very well. The wings twitched in the angels sleep and Dean's eyes were drawn to them. They really were the largest pair he'd ever seen. Easily a nine-foot wingspan, with coarse black feathers. Dean ran a hesitant hand through them and grimaced. The angel's wings hadn't been groomed in what felt like years. When Dean was younger, he was highly interested in angel's wings, and the wings his father had collected had hung in the garage, and Dean would take time each week and clean them. Dean ran his fingers through the feathers, feeling the built up oils and dirt and his frown deepened. Wings like this should be kept in better condition. Dean hadn't realized he was now continuously carding through the wings until he glanced at the angel's face and was met with bright blue eyes staring at him. Dean jumped a good three feet in the air, muttering, "Jesus Christ! Warn someone when you wake up, God, you scared the shit out of me," Dean stepped back, embarrassed to have been caught watching, and touching, the angel while it slept. "What're you doing?" the angel asked, and Dean was surprised. The angels voice was deep and gravely, whereas Dean was expecting soft and light. "I was checking on you- Wait, you just spoke to me," Dean smirked, "I was starting to think you couldn't." The angel still stared at him, waiting for an answer and Dean cleared his throat, glancing away, "Anyway, I was just checking to make sure your wounds were healing fine." The angel sat up, its wings stretching slightly, and it nodded. Suddenly it sniffed the air and glanced at the table quizzically. Dean followed its gaze, seeing the food, "Oh yeah, I got that for you. I wasn't sure what angels ate so I kinda just got you a burger."

"Its…for me?" the angel asked hesitantly. "Yeah, I mean, you gotta eat." The angel looked at Dean for a minute, its eyes narrow and it seemed to be judging whether or not if it should trust him, and apparently he looked trustworthy because the angel hesitantly stood and sat at the table, opening the box. Well, either Dean looked trustworthy or the angel was starving. The angel started to eat and Dean grabbed the first aid kit and walked over to where the angel was, placing the kit on the table and pulling out disinfectant. The angel looked at him out of the corner of its eye, but didn't object as Dean started to take the old bandages off. He sprayed the disinfectant on and the wing twitched but the angel kept eating. Dean cleaned some of the feathers around the wound so he could see it more clearly, and applied new bandages. "Your wings need to be cleaned," Dean said absentmindedly, carding his hands through the feathers. After moments of silence, Dean looked at the angel and saw it had stopped eating and was sitting with its head lowered. "Are you okay?" He asked, sounding hesitant. "I do not know how to clean wings," he mumbled, his voice raspy and low. "You don't?" Dean asked, surprised. Most angels did, seeing as the ones his dad brought in all looked fairly clean. "My brother used to clean them for us, and he never got a chance to teach us." "Why?" Dean asked before it hit him in the face why he hadn't, it was because a hunter had killed his brother. "He was killed, and we watched the hunter drag him off. After Michael died it, only Gabriel and I were left. And now, it's just me." He sounded choked up and suddenly felt awful, remembering how Sam had been the one to kill Gabriel.

"Im…sorry." Dean mumbled, feeling like shit. The angel sat there for a long time before saying, "Your race can not be blamed. It is how you are raised." Dean glanced at him, confused. "We're raised that way because we're taught that angels are evil and kill humans. So we have to kill them first."

The angel smirked but it looked twisted and bad, "I understand. An angel has never murdered a human, I can assure you that." Dean blinked, baffled. "What do you mean? Your kind always drags ours into the woods and kills them." The angel didn't respond but simply sat there.

"Oh, so you're done talking for today, is that? Scared I'll use your information against you?" Dean said bitterly but the angel just sat there, a thousand-year old look in his eyes.


	5. Hello Castiel

The angel hadn't talked in two hours and Dean was starting to worry. He'd apologized twice for losing his temper but the angel had just stared at the floor sadly. Dean had checked on his shoulder wound again, and the angel had sat on the bed, Dean now sitting in the chair opposite, both silent.

"Dean."

Hearing the angel's voice sent a shiver down his spine and he glanced up, trying to hide his relief that the angel was still speaking to him. "Yes?"

"Why have you not killed me yet?" The angel's bright eyes were starring at Dean, and he suddenly looked very tired. Like he'd been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and it was starting to crush him. "Do you simply want to prolong my suffering?" Dean blinked, surprised by the outburst, "No, of course not. I'm trying to save you-"  
"I do not understand you humans at all. You kill all my family and leave me with the burden of a life alone, and I just do not understand why you do not finish me."

"Hey, I didn't kill anybody, calm down, I don't want to hurt you, and I've told you this before-"

"Oh, you do not wish to hurt me? What is it that makes you so different from everyone else in the world, then, Dean? Why are you so special to me-" The angel cut off, its eyes turning dark and a confused look gracing the angel's face. "What'd you say?" Dean mumbled unintelligently, still shell-shocked. The angel blinked at him several times before backing into the corner of the room, sitting down, and wrapping his large wings around himself, completely cocooned.

Dean stood, walking over to the angel, hesitantly extending a hand towards the wings before drawing his hand back. "Please talk to me," Dean was surprised at the sadness in his voice. "I'm trying to help you, okay? I don't know why I can't kill you but I'm trying hard to be a good person and I don't know what I'll do when you're healed, because I can't set you free for someone else to simply kill, and I don't know if I can keep you, or if you even want me to. I don't even know you're _name_," Dean was starting to get hysterical, and he continued, "I just want to help you and I'm attached to you and I don't know why but I can't lose you, I've already lost both my parents and Sam is all I have left and now you're here and-" Dean cut off, feeling a lump in his throat as he sank to the floor in front of the wings, fighting to keep his emotions in check.

"Castiel," Dean's head snapped up, the wings slightly parted, and the angel's head was visible.

"W-What?" Dean mumbled. "My name is Castiel." Then the wings came together again, and the angel was invisible, but Dean couldn't help his small grin as he scooted over to sit next to the angel and lean against him. "Hello, Castiel."

When Castiel first awoke in this motel room, he was horrified to find he was still alive. Why couldn't he just die? Didn't he deserve that? A painless death?

He was positive the hunter was one of those humans that liked to torture the angels, pluck out their feathers one at a time. He was terrified and he didn't want the hunter to touch him at all. He had to admit, he was surprised the hunter had healed his back wounds, but he wasn't going to fall for it. He'd seen how deceptive humans were. They'd promise they were different and when the angel least except it, they would strike. It was how Michael had died, and Castiel had never really gotten over his death.

Then Gabriel had died, and Castiel's world had ended. His only family left had died; looking for something Michael had left us. Castiel wasn't sure what it is, and did not want to know. When the hunters had left, Castiel had carried Gabriel's body back to their makeshift home and buried his brother. Then the arrows hit his shoulder, and pain lanced out. The arrow from the day before was still in his wing, and he'd fallen to the ground. Accepting the pain, and welcoming death. But it never came. Then he'd awoken in that god-forsaken motel, with the hunter's hands on him, and Castiel had fought. He wanted death, but not torture. When the hunter had tried to calm him down, he only fought harder, Michael in his mind the whole time. How mangled Michael's poor body was. Then the hunter claimed he was trying to help Castiel's wing, and Castiel had attacked the hunter. The hunter then yelled about going to bed, and he had.

And that was where Castiel became puzzled. Why was the hunter sleeping? Was he waiting for Castiel to sleep as well, and then he would strike?

Castiel didn't trust him, and once he heard the hunter's soft snoring, Castiel began trying to yank the arrow from his wing. It hurt. Awfully.

Castiel tried for a good couple of hours before he was surprised by the hunter's voice murmuring, "Let me help." Castiel had backed away, and when the hunter tried again, Castiel slapped his hand.

The hunter then exclaimed his exasperation and went into the bathroom. The angel's eyes followed him all the way, his confusion deepening even further. When Castiel heard the shower turn on, he began to work on his wing again, tugging at the arrow. The more he tried the more frustrated he became, until he finally yanked it out with a deep yelp. The wound had grown with the force of pulling the arrow out and was now bleeding. About that time, the hunter had exited the bathroom, in clean clothes and freshly bathed, and Castiel wished he could have the luxury of a shower, instead of relying on rivers for a source of cleanliness.

The hunter walked towards Castiel, extending a hand to touch him, but Castiel growled and flared his good wing up, trying to look larger and more of a predator than wounded prey. "Seriously, cut the crap. If I wanted to kill you I would've already done it. I'm trying to _help _you, ya moron." The hunter mumbled and Castiel stared at the hunter, bewildered at the reaction. Nevertheless, Castiel let the hunter pat the wound with a towel. He winced, pain lancing from the joint and the hunter looked pained for the angel. The more time Castiel spent with the hunter, the more and more confused he became about the hunter's true intentions. He had never heard of a hunter healing an angel, only to torture it later. Maybe, he was different?

'_All humans are cruel and hateful, their pathetic hearts can not see the beauty of angels, they only view us as prey_.' Michael's words rang in Castiel's head. He was watching the hunter intently, ready to flee at the sign of any hostility but all he saw was guilt, and the angel's heart ached for the poor hunter.

"I'm…really sorry about shooting at you," the hunter muttered, not looking at Castiel as he started to dig through the kit. "I just, wanted to live up to my dad's expectations, even if he's not here anymore. I wanted to prove I'm not worthless and I can be as great as he was. But I can't…" Castiel blinked. So the human was torn between how he was raised, and how his heart felt. Castiel could relate.

He can still remember heaven, his father warning him about humans, but Castiel still loved them. Even through their shameful times, and their spiteful times, Castiel loved the human race. He saw so much hope. He wanted to change them, to prove his father wrong. To be let back into heaven…

"There. Just try not to stretch your wing out to full capacity until that wound is fully closed, got it?" The hunter looked at Castiel and he nodded. "I'm Dean, by the way,"

Dean.

Dean. The angel repeated the name in his head over and over, savoring the feel of it. _Dean._

"Don't talk much, do you?" Dean murmured, a smirk on his face. Castiel couldn't help but stare.

Dean coughed, "Well, you should rest," Dean stated, getting off the bed. Castiel's senses went on high alert. Dean rolled his eyes and muttered, "I've got to go find some food and make a call. You can sleep while I'm gone, that way you know I won't kill you in your sleep or anything."

Dean then grabbed keys and walked out, leaving Castiel confused and alone on the bed.


	6. In the Mind of an Angel

Castiel did sleep. After sitting in the room alone for an hour, sure Dean wasn't about to sneak back in and hurt him; Castiel had laid down, one wing hanging off the bed, and the other wrapping around his upper body.

Castiel dreamed about Michael. He dreamed he was younger, in his home in the forest, and Michael was carding his fingers through Castiel's feathers. "You are special and will change the world, Castiel. Do not let anyone tell you differently." Castiel had blushed at the statement, feeling like a child having its mother tell them they could be whatever they wanted to be. Gabriel was off with Anna, and it was a time when his family was still alive and together, and he was not alone and scared.

It was pleasant and brought an ache to his chest when he started to awake, and he realized he had been dreaming.

Castiel slowly woke up, still feeling fingers in his feathers and momentarily confused. Where was he?

Then he glanced up and saw Dean running his fingers through Castiel's feathers. Castiel blinked, surprised by the softness in Dean's face, maybe he was recollecting a memory, as Castiel had moments ago. He'd never noticed how Dean's eyes were the color of summer grass, or the splash of freckles across his nose. Castiel wanted to reach a hand up and touch Dean's face, but he knew beyond a doubt the hunter would not approve. Dean glanced at Castiel and jumped, "Jesus Christ!" He began muttering about warnings but Castiel's head was racing as to why Dean was touching him, and more interestingly, why Castiel had enjoyed it. "What're you doing?" Castiel asked, sitting up.

"I was checking on you- Wait, you just spoke to me," Dean smirked, "I was starting to think you couldn't." Of course Castiel could speak, everyone could, unless his or her vocal cords were damaged, which his were fine. Dean cleared his throat, "Anyway, I was just checking to make sure your wounds were healing fine."

Castiel nodded, his mind still throwing up warning flags that he should be on guard until he inhaled deeply and smelled food. His stomach growled and he flushed with embarrassment as he looked at the small table in the room, a plate of food on it. "Oh yeah, I got that for you. I wasn't sure what angels ate so I kinda just got you a burger."

"It's…for me?" the angel asked hesitantly. "Yeah, I mean, you gotta eat."

Castiel looked at the food again, weighing the options, but his hollow stomach growled again and he slowly stood, sat in the chair, and began to eat. The first bite almost hurt when it hit his stomach. His body didn't really need food, but a long time without it had displeasing effects.

While he ate, Dean stood, grabbing the first aid kit, and started to tend to his wing. "Your wings need to be cleaned," Dean mumbled and Castiel flushed crimson, embarrassed. He knew most hunters collected wings so he figured Dean knew what clean wings looked like. But Castiel had never been taught how to. Michael had always done it, and he had died before teaching him or Gabriel. He stopped eating and lowered his head, his mood turning sour at the thought.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, actually sounding concerned. Castiel really had no idea what to think of this hunter. Was he trying to help him? Why? Castiel's weakness was always too much heart, and now he started to feel protective of Dean, or at least he enjoyed his company. He knew that if Dean started to hurt him, he wound not run. He would take it. Because Dean had grown on him, and Castiel wasn't sure he wanted to leave.

"I do not know how to clean wings," he mumbled. "You don't?"

Castiel shook his head. "My brother used to clean them for us, and he never got a chance to teach us." "Why?"

Castiel wondered if he was joking, but he could hear Dean's tone change to realization. "He was killed, and we watched the hunter drag him off. After Michael died it, only Gabriel and I were left. And now, it's just me." Castiel's throat started to close in what he had learned was the beginning stages of crying.

"Im…sorry." Dean mumbled. Castiel wondered why Dean was sorry. He had not killed Michael. He had not even killed Gabriel, even though his brother had. It was a shame that humans were brought up to the thought that angels were evil, and it made Castiel's chest throb and his throat close again. He wondered if humans could change at all.

"Your race can not be blamed. It is how you are raised." Dean glanced at him, confused. "We're raised that way because we're taught that angels are evil and kill humans. So we have to kill them first."

Castiel smirked. He knew what humans thought of angels. Humans did not want to believe in their own faults, and so they made up lies even if it hurt others. Angels have never killed a human. They have never lured them into a forest to kill them. What happens is humans fall in love with angels, and the humans disappear in the middle of the night, meeting the angel and they both go somewhere. Castiel is not sure, but he has seen it happen many a times. Where humans cannot resist the purity of angels, and follow them into the night. And the angels stay loyal. Angels stay loyal to their first mates for life, never claiming another. But humans can't grasp that concept, and simply make up lies. Gabriel always told him it would be dangerous to tell humans the truth about angels.

So Castiel decided to not tell Dean. Not yet.

"I understand. An angel has never murdered a human, I can assure you that." Dean blinked, baffled. "What do you mean? Your kind always drags ours into the woods and kills them." Castiel shook his head but did not respond.

"Oh, so you're done talking for today, is that? Scared I'll use your information against you?"

Castiel flinched at the harshness in the words, and waited for the blow to come, but it never did, and Castiel's mind simply became more confused about the strange hunter.


	7. Special to Me

Castiel had been lost in thought for a while. Dean had apologized twice, yelled again, and then apologized more.

He'd given up eventually on communication with Castiel, and sat the angel on the bed and checked on his wounds before going and sitting in the chair opposite the bed.

All Castiel could think of was his kind. How mistreated they were, how humans made up such ridiculous and malicious stories about angels, and yet, they still came to earth. They still left their father in heaven and came to earth, just to watch and appreciate the humans that so badly wanted them dead. Castiel had contemplated asking to go back up to heaven, but then he would spy on small towns and see a father hold up his son and kiss the son's fat cheek while the child squealed in delight, and Castiel's heart would swell, and he would banish his thought and stay in the woods.

But Castiel knew, that the father was most likely a hunter, and if not he hated angels. And that the young child would grow and probably hunt Castiel, like all others did. Castiel glanced up at Dean, the hunter looking lost in thought. But was Dean different? What made this human so special from the rest? Why was it, that when Castiel looked at humans, he felt happy, but when he looked at Dean he felt warm instead? Protected, even. It was strange, feeling like he was safest with this man, when he knew that Dean would probably be the one to end Castiel's life. And Castiel was okay with it. If Dean stood and shot an arrow through Castiel's head, Castiel would simply accept his death and go peacefully.

The thought disturbed Castiel. Is this why Michael had left with that human? He felt this way about that man? That he loved our father's creation so much that he let that human mangle his body?

When they had found Michael's body, Castiel could not wrap his mind around why Michael had let this happen to him. Castiel remembered Gabriel and him walking through the woods, still worried about Michael, who'd said he was going away to live with his love, when they stumbled upon the body. Michael's body had been dumped in a heap at the base of a tree, his wings cut out, leaving huge gouges in his back. His left arm was nothing but a stub above his elbow, loose flesh hanging from it. Castiel couldn't tell where Michael's legs even began; his whole lower body was so torn and ragged. Michael's face had been untouched, though, and that was what had hurt the most. That they knew it was Michael without a doubt. Castiel had mourned for days, not eating or sleeping. Gabriel had began to worry about Castiel and was simply carrying his baby brother around until Castiel finally realized Gabriel was loosing it and he had to come back to reality. This awful reality where beautiful creatures could be treated like this.

Now, Castiel was not sure if he would refuse Dean if he wanted to do the same to him.

Castiel spoke up, finally, "Dean."

The hunter's head snapped up, "Yes?"

"Why have you not killed me yet?" The angel had to know. A part of Castiel was hoping that Dean was different. That Dean maybe felt the same about him. Castiel's other part was whispering 'He's no different. He'll cut off your wings and leave you for death in a basement somewhere.'

"Do you simply want to prolong my suffering?" Castiel was starting to get choked up, his small hope wanting to blossom so badly it hurt. Dean began, "No, of course not. I'm trying to save you-"  
"I do not understand you humans at all. You kill all my family and leave me with the burden of a life alone, and I just do not understand why you do not finish me." His chest ached with the loss of his family. Anna, Michael, Gabriel, Lucifer. They were all gone, humans having ravaged his family and leaving Castiel, the youngest, to survive alone.

"Hey, I didn't kill anybody, calm down, I don't want to hurt you, and I've told you this before-"

"Oh, you do not wish to hurt me? What is it that makes you so different from everyone else in the world, then, Dean? Why are you so special to me-" Castiel cut off, realizing what he said. He'd gotten carried away with his 'emotions' that these vessels had, and he slammed his mouth shut.

"What'd you say?" Dean mumbled.

The angel blinked at Dean several times before backing into the corner of the room, sitting down, and wrapping his large wings around himself, completely cocooned.

Castiel brought his knees up and hugged them, his throat tight and his eyes burning and he realized he was going to cry. His wings tightened around him, comforting Castiel, but his loss was fresh in his mind and, even though Castiel knew crying would not bring his family back or make the hunter like him, he did anyway.

Castiel could hear Dean walk towards him, a pause, then, "Please talk to me."

Dean's voice sounded sad beyond years and it made Castiel hurt.

"I'm trying to help you, okay? I don't know why I can't kill you but I'm trying hard to be a good person and I don't know what I'll do when you're healed, because I can't set you free for someone else to simply kill, and I don't know if I can keep you, or if you even want me to. I don't even know you're _name_," Dean was stammering and speaking fast, as if his mouth couldn't keep up with his thoughts, "I just want to help you and I'm attached to you and I don't know why but I can't lose you, I've already lost both my parents and Sam is all I have left and now you're here and-" Dean cut off and said nothing. Castiel's tears had stopped during the monologue and Castiel wanted Dean's words to be true so bad it hurt.

Castiel let his right wing draw back slightly, seeing Dean was on his knees in front of Castiel, and said, "Castiel."

Dean looked up, "What?"

"My name is Castiel." Castiel could see Dean's grin as he said, "Hello, Castiel."

He loved the way his name sounded coming from Dean, and his right wing came back up, covering Castiel completely in his embarrassment, feeling like a, what was the word?

Sappy moron.

Dean scooted and sat next to Castiel, leaning against his wing slightly. Castiel tensed up, unsure of what the hunter was doing, but after an hour or so, Castiel could hear Dean snoring and realized he was sleeping. He relaxed instantly and a warm smile spread across his face.

Castiel hesitantly let his wings out, Dean now leaning on Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel crouched, then picked Dean up gently, carrying him to the bed. One he was laid down, he rubbed his face in the pillow and mumbled something. Castiel watched Dean sleep for a long time, fighting the urge to join him.

Would the hunter panic if he awoke next to Castiel? Or would he be okay with it?  
Castiel did not want Dean mad at him, but he couldn't fight the urge any longer and he laid down on the other side of the bed, not touching Dean incase he woke up. Castiel rolled onto his back and sighed, the bed comfortable, much more comfortable than the ground. Dean groaned and rolled over, throwing an arm over Castiel's back.

Castiel froze and glanced at Dean, who was still asleep. Castiel's wings fluttered up, his left hanging off the bed, and his right settled over Dean. Dean sighed contently in his sleep and scooted closer and Castiel beamed, pleased with himself, even though he knew Dean would not be happy with the arrangement in the morning, Castiel simply enjoyed the hunter's touch while it lasted.


	8. Groomed

Dean awoke strangely warm and content. Something soft was over him and heat was radiating next to him and he scooted closer to the source, sighing. It reminded Dean of when he was younger and his father would come put a heated blanket over Dean and Sam during cold winter nights.

Dean's eyes opened slowly, sunshine streaming weakly through the dirty blinds in the motel room. As Dean's mind began to clear more, he became more and more confused. He looked at the heat and realized it was the angel, lying beside him. Castiel's hair was a mess, dirty and matted, but his face was peaceful and lax. Dean furrowed his brows as he realized he was lying on the blankets. He glanced at what was over him and realized it was one of Castiel's huge wings, thrown over Dean.

His eyes widen as he tentatively reached a hand up and ran it through the wings, feeling how dirty they were. Castiel really needed to be groomed. And a shower couldn't hurt either.

Dean ran his hand over the joint in the wing, seeing it was healing much faster than he'd expected. He squeezed lightly, feeling the muscles underneath, and then Dean heard a loud gasp, followed by the wing being thrown off him and the angel jumping off the bed, away from him.

Dean lay there for a moment before sitting up and starring at the angel. Castiel was in the corner of the room, one wing around his body, and the injured one in his hands. He looked at Dean with mistrust. "What?" Dean asked, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. The angel seemed to shrink some and he glanced down at his wing. "I wasn't going to hurt you, I was looking at the wound." The angel didn't move or reply. "Why do you have such a hard time trusting? I mean, damnit, haven't I proved myself enough that I'm not trying to hurt you?"

Dean's anger flared and he glared at the angel in the room, waiting for a reply. "You worry me…with your fascination of my wings," the angel murmured quietly.

Dean blinked, his anger fading as he stood up, taking a step towards the angel, but Castiel simply shrunk lower to the ground. "Why? I'm not going to hurt them. It just bothers me sometimes that they're dirty. You really need them groomed."

The angel looked at Dean and seemed to be judging him, and Dean must've failed because the angel didn't reply but simply wrapped both wings around him.

Dean groaned, "Whatever. I'm hungry. Do whatever it is you do when I'm not around." And with that he grabbed his coat and keys and left.

When Dean came back, the motel room was completely empty. Dean had started to panic, thinking the angel had left after the fight in the morning and he'd dropped the to-go order on the table and walked more into the room, unable to believe the angel was just gone. "Castiel?" He called out, unsure. Dean heard a grunt from behind him and he turned, seeing no one. "Castiel?" He called out again, louder. That's when Dean heard the bang come from the bathroom, and realized the light was on and the door was closed.

Dean walked to the door and hesitantly opened it, seeing the angel sitting on the edge of the tub, one wing in his hands, the other on the floor, sopping wet. Dean could hear the irritated sounds coming the angel. "Castiel? What's wrong?" Dean asked, stepping more into the bathroom. Castiel froze before turning his head slightly to the side, "I can not clean my wings." Castiel's head falls and he looks ashen and embarrassed. "I know how it bothers you but I do not know how."

A pang of guilt hits Dean, "Aw, dude. I didn't mean that it bothered me like that; I just meant that you have really nice wings. They should be cared for correctly so they can look their best."

The angel was silent for a long time before mumbling, "Would you please show me how, Dean?"

Dean looked at the angel and could see the sadness in the set of the angel's wings and shoulders. He remembered how Castiel's brother used to groom his wings for him, but then he died. "Sure. Come into the living room." Dean motioned towards the other room and walked out, the angel following, holding a towel. Dean gestured towards the bed and the angel sat, facing the headboard. "You don't necessarily need water to clean wings. Your oil glands are really all you need. Dry your wet wing while I clean this one."

Dean ran a hand through the wing, feeling the dirt and grime and grimaced. He reached his hand further in, feeling for the gland at the base of the wing. Dean's hand finally brushed the gland and he squeezed it gently, feeling how big and underused it was. Castiel sighed loudly when Dean squeezed the gland, his hand covered in oil. He ran his hand over a few feathers, the dirt building up in clumps as Dean went along, until the clumps fall on the ground as Dean reaches the edge of the wing. Dean repeats the process over and over, Castiel sighing contentedly each time.

When Castiel is done drying the other wing, Dean begins to clean it as well, Castiel groaning when Dean squeezes the sensitive oil gland.

"Castiel?"

"Yes, Dean?"

Dean pauses, "Do you mind if I call you Cas? Castiel is a bit of a mouthful." The angel nods then says quietly, "That isn't what you wanted to ask, is it Dean?"

Dean furrows his eyebrows before murmuring, "I was just wondering what happened to Michael. Did a hunter kill him?"

Castiel's back grew stiff and he was silent for a few minutes. Dean regretted the question immediately and was going to apologize when Castiel spoke, "My brother fell in love with a human. The man told my brother that Michael could come live with him, and that he would take care of Michael. So he did."

Cas paused and Dean was tense, his hands frozen on a feather, but he quickly resumed, Castiel starting again after a moment. "Three months later Gabriel and I found Michael's body dumped by the tree Gabriel was killed at." Castiel stopped, sounding choked and he cleared his throat loudly before continuing, "His wings were completely cut out. Just two huge, gaping holes in his back…His left arm was cut off to the elbow, not treated at all, and after his waist there was nothing but unrecognizable flesh. It was not a good time, for my brother and me. Gabriel took care of me until I came back to reality." Castiel ended, his head hanging low and Dean slowly continued on his wings, his mind mulling over the information. Is that why Castiel was so mistrusting? He thought Dean would do that to him? Dean's stomach churned and he felt an actual sickness take hold of him. "That's fucking awful. I'm…so sorry." Dean couldn't imagine what it must feel like. What if that had happened to Sam? Dean's throat started to close and he could feel his face and eyes start to sting and he internally yelled at himself. Castiel was quiet the rest of the time Dean finished the grooming. When the last pieces of dirt were off, and Castiel's wings were black and shining, Dean said a proud, "Done. They look beautiful."

Castiel said nothing, and his wings were still hung low. Dean blinked and walked around the bed and saw Cas's face, the red eyes and tears streaming silently. "Oh, Cas." Dean's eyes began to sting again and he quickly grabbed the angel's shoulders and dragged Castiel to him, wrapping his arms around the angel. Castiel's head rested in the crook of Dean's neck and Cas let loose a quiet sob, his chest heaving against Dean's. Dean didn't say anything as Castiel began sobbing loudly, his body wracking with shivers as Dean held him.


	9. Keep You Forever

Castiel had calmed down and started to eat the food Dean had brought him, and Dean had taken the opposite seat across the small table.

Castiel felt embarrassed for the outburst earlier, but he was grateful for Dean grooming his wings. Castiel had thanked Dean repeatedly. "Where did you learn to clean wings?" Castiel voiced his thoughts, taking another bite of his burger that Dean had gotten him. It would be an understatement to say that Castiel was warming up to Dean. He felt comfortable around the hunter and protected. He wondered idly if this was what Michael felt like before everything went bad, but Castiel knew Dean would never hurt him. "I liked to, uh, clean the wings in my dad's garage. He was a pretty famous angel hunter and kept all of his wings and I'd always groom them." Castiel stopped eating and glanced up at Dean. He looked ashamed and lost. Castiel knew he shouldn't be so surprised. Dean learned his hunting from somewhere, surely not himself. Dean didn't say his wings, though. Had Dean ever killed an angel? Did he keep wings like his father?

"Dean," he paused, "have you ever killed an angel?"

Castiel stared at his plate for a while before looking up at Dean, who looked perplexed. "No. I never killed one. I was supposed to go on my first hunt with my father, but he left Sam and me alone. My first hunt was the night I met you."

Castiel looked at him, wanting to believe it wholeheartedly.

"Sam is your brother, correct?" Dean nodded in answer to his question. "Then where is he?"

Dean chewed his lower lip in thought before answering, "He's at home. I've been calling him everyday, telling him I'm fine. He thinks I'm on a hunt." Castiel stared at Dean. Dean had a younger brother at home, alone, and Castiel was the reason why.

"I am sorry for keeping you away from your brother…" Castiel looked down, feeling like a burden.

"No, Cas, it's okay. Sam can handle himself. I'm going to go back…eventually."

Dean didn't speak the words 'once you're healed and I can set you free', but he didn't need to. The words hung in the air, unsaid. Castiel honestly did not want to leave Dean. He liked Dean, a lot. But he knew that Dean had a brother he had to return to, even though Castiel had no one but the forest to return to.

All his brothers were gone, and he could not burden Dean with asking if Castiel could come home and live with Dean.

Were the wings still hung at Dean's house? Would Dean take them down, or would Castiel have to deal with looking at his fellow angel's wings mounted like trophies?

Castiel's head said no, but his heart ached at thinking of a time when he would have to say no to Dean and leave him.

"Did you used to have a big family?" Dean asked tentatively.

"I had three brothers and a sister." Dean nodded, face falling slightly at the 'had'.

"Is Sam alone?" Dean nodded, "Where are your parents?" Castiel asked.

Dean glanced away, his face looking ashen, "My mother died giving birth to Sam, and my dad left out of nowhere when I was 16."

Castiel blinked, the answer not at all what he was expecting. "I…am sorry, Dean. I would not have asked if I knew it was not a good story." Dean gave a twisted smirk and shrugged, "Well. It happens. What about your…parent? Why'd you leave Heaven?"

Castiel fiddled with his wing, relishing in the cleanliness of his feathers, "I and my family were cast out when we chose to love humans more than our father. We were happy to go, we knew what happened here, but we did not know it was to this severity. We thought it was simply bullying, we were unprepared for the carnage we saw. But we could not return, because we knew we'd be shamed." Dean's brow furrowed, "Wait, so the angels leave Heaven KNOWING something bad is waiting down here for them? Why do they leave?"

Castiel's face lifted into a small smile, "We love your kind so much, Dean. We see the perfection in your flaws, the caring in your anger. How, even when your kind is out for blood, there is always a passion behind it. It is beautiful to see up-close."

Dean stared at Castiel uncomprehendingly, "You're tellin' me that angels come down here to die, just to get to stare at us humans for a little bit?"

Castiel nodded, it made perfect sense to him. Dean scoffed and shook his head, grimacing. "Well, I feel like total shit."

Silence followed, Dean staring off into space as Castiel's eyes looked over the motel room. Castiel stared at Dean's clothes, noticing it was third new shirt and jeans he had on. Castiel wondered where he was getting these clothes, and with that thought he glanced down at his own. No shirt, he had a shirt but it only made flying harder so he had gotten rid of it the first week of being on Earth. His jeans were ratted and old, littered with dirt and holes. He wondered if he smelled. He'd seen Dean take several showers while they were here, and he was curious if he should get one.

"Dean, do I smell?" Dean zoned and looked at Castiel with an odd expression, "I dunno. Why?"

"I was curious as to whether I needed a shower or not." Dean shrugged, "I guess. You can get one if you want, I have to go call Sam anyway." Dean stood, grabbing his cell phone off the nightstand and walking out of the room. Castiel stood, walking into the bathroom, slightly unsure. He'd turned the water on earlier to clean his wings and he thought he knew how to change the water to come out of the top instead. He leaned over and inspected the knobs. He turned on the one he knew was hot water then pulled something from where the water came out, and the flow stopped for a moment before it started streaming from the showerhead. Castiel smiled triumphantly as he took his jeans off, laying them in a heap on the floor as he stepped into the small shower, his wings cramped against his back. He leaned his head down, sighing when the warm water hit his head and ran down his body. He looked at the bar of soap on the small ledge in the shower, he remembered Michael telling him how humans cleaned themselves with it. He hesitantly picked it up before scrubbing his hair with it, then moving to his torso, washing before feeling a sting and hissing. He glanced down, seeing an old wound on his ribcage he thought had healed up but had reopened and was slowly pouring blood down his side and into the drain. It left a dull pain as Castiel turned the water off and stepped out, his wings mostly dry. He glanced around the bathroom, unsure of what to do. He curiously opened the bottom cabinets below the sink, seeing rolls of tissue paper and he closed it, uninterested. He opened the door adjacent to the shower and found a stack of towels on a shelf. He grabbed one and dried himself off quickly. He grabbed another, rubbing it in his hair, a sigh escaping him at the feeling of the downy material. He dropped the towels next to his pants and stood there hesitantly. It would not make logical sense to put his dirty jeans back on after he'd just been cleaned. Where had Dean's clothes come from? Castiel had checked the bathroom and found no clothes. He bent over and picked up his jeans and the towel, folding all three neatly on the counter before simply walking out of the bathroom.


	10. One More Day

The call with Sam hadn't really even been a conversation. Sam was starting to get hysterical, he thought Dean was gone for good, no matter how many times Dean had reassured him he'd be home soon. The call had ended with Dean yelling over Sam's voice, "I LOVE YOU. BE SAFE, SAM. PLEASE BELIEVE ME I'LL BE BACK." And Dean had simply hung up. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily and wishing this was over. He couldn't just leave Cas, but Sam was starting to panic and he didn't want to scar his brother anymore than he already was.

Dean shoved the phone into his pocket and opened the motel door, dropping heavily into the chair nearby. He could hear Castiel shuffling around on the bed and then, "Dean where did you acquire those?"

Dean looked up, confused as to what the hell Cas was talking about, and barely got out the words, "Wh-" before he choked off. "CAS, WHY'RE YOU NAKED?" Dean practically yelled, standing up and backing away some, unsure of how to handle a naked angel. Castiel was sitting on the bed, one wing draped over him to help hide himself a bit but not cover him completely, and the other wing hung off the bed. "I couldn't find where you got your clothes from, and it was illogical to put back on my dirty pants."

Dean spluttered for a second, more flustered and confused than anything else, before finally spitting out, "Clothes. Duffel. Just put them on." He waved his hand at the duffel bag by the bed that he always kept plenty of spare clothes in. The angel nodded and started trifling through it, pulling out a pair of Dean's jeans and sliding them on. Dean turned his head back to Castiel now, the pants hung a little, a bit too big for the angel's skinny frame. When Castiel started to zip the bag back up, Dean questioned, "You're not going to put a shirt on?"

Castiel stared at Dean with a blank expression for a second before fluttering his wings, and Dean could swear the angel looked like he was saying 'Really, Dean?' which made him chuckle. "I forgot, my bad."

Castiel zipped the duffel up and sat back on the bed. Dean kept glancing around the room, really anywhere BUT the angel.

"Dean, I am sorry if I brought you discomfort but I did not want to go looking through your things without permission."

Dean sighed and looked at him, "Yeah, I know Cas. I'm just not used to seeing naked guys." Castiel cocked his head to the side but said nothing. Dean stood with a grunt and sat on the edge of the bed, patting the place beside him and Castiel scooted down, his shoulder brushing the angel's. "Sam's getting a little panicky. He thinks I'm not gonna come back." Castiel was silent for a while before inching his hand to Dean's and gently giving it a squeeze. It was a simple gesture, but Dean could tell Castiel was asking for Dean to stay a bit longer. "I know. I'm going to stay for a few more days. But I can't be here forever, Cas. I have to go home soon, and so do you." Castiel laced their fingers together and squeezed again. Dean glanced at him, seeing the concentration in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry Cas but I can't take you home with me, you know that." Castiel withdrew his hand and scooted away barely. They were both silent until Castiel murmured, "I'm being selfish, Dean. I apologize."

Castiel scooted up the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. Dean follwed him, lying beside the angel. "You're not being selfish, Castiel. I am. Either I hurt Sam or I hurt you, and I don't know what to do." Castiel was silent for a long time before he rolls over, laying his head on Dean's chest and placing a hand on Dean's stomach. "You need to go back to Sam. He is your family."

Dean carefully laces his fingers with Castiel's and smiles when Castiel squeezes lightly. It's a meaningless gesture, but it carries a strange intimacy and trust between them. Sort of an early goodbye and a way to say that they understand it's not going to end well.

The next two days were a blur to Castiel. He and Dean spent a lot of time together in the motel room. Dean rarely left, with the exception to get food and shower. Dean would teach Castiel about things and tell Castiel stories from his childhood, and Castiel told Dean stories about his time in Heaven, his first confusing days on Earth, he told Dean about every death of his sibling and Dean had hugged him forcefully, and Castiel realized he'd been crying, and he had clinged to Dean and cried. It was like knowing they didn't have many days left together had lowered the barrier between them. Where Castiel was scared to touch Dean before, Dean now relished Castiel's touches and encouraged them, even touching back sometimes. Those two days would always hold a special place in Castiel's heart, and he knew that long after Dean was gone, he would replay those memories. The second night, Dean had kissed Castiel on the forehead, telling him goodnight and then falling asleep. Castiel had stayed awake all night, smiling like an idiot.

Castiel awoke the next morning, the feel of Dean's lips on his forehead still there. Castiel hummed happily and outstretched his hand, looking for Dean's body in the bed but after a few minutes of fumbling, he comes up empty handed. Castiel opens one eye and sees the other side of the bed is empty. He sits up, glancing around but only seeing an empty room. For a panicked moment, Castiel thinks Dean has already left.

Castiel stands, his movements hesitant and cautious even though he is blatantly alone in the small motel room. "Dean?" Castiel calls, glancing around for any sign of movement. Someone's deep, rumbling voice draws the angel's attention to the window, where he glances out to see Dean on the phone, his back turned to the window. Castiel watched him for a few movements before backing away and returning back to the bed, running his hand idly over the sheets. Castiel knew Dean was on the phone with Sam, and Sam was probably sorrowful about his brother's absence. Which the boy's sadness was all Castiel's fault, he was the one keeping Dean away from his family. His shoulders slumped and he heaved a great sigh before stretching both wings out. It was starting to get cramp in the room, anyway. But even as he thought it, he knew he'd rather stay in this cramped motel room with Dean than go back into the forest where he could stretch his wings and breath the clean air any day.

Dean walked into the small motel room, his face strained and his eyes shining. Castiel could tell the call with Sam hadn't gone well.

"Sam is really upset…I-I've gotta go home to him, Cas. He's starting to think that I've left like dad did. I can't put him through this." Dean's eyes were starting to get redder and Castiel could tell he was about to cry.

Dean had to leave?

But where would Castiel go? He didn't think he could go back to the forest. He could not stand to live in fear the rest of his life anymore. He wanted to stay with Dean, forever.

Castiel's throat started to close up as he watched Dean sit on the edge of the bed, his head hung and looking defeated.

Castiel couldn't let Dean stay here; he couldn't let Dean suffer at his expense. He knew that, with all his heart. Dean had to go to home to Sam. Castiel realized that if it was he in the situation, and Gabriel had been gone so long, he would also want his older brother back more than anything.

Castiel didn't dare ask if he could come home with Dean. He didn't want to put that pressure on him, and knew he would always hate himself if he asked that.

Castiel realized the only real way this was going to end would be with Dean going back to Sam, and Castiel returning to his home in the woods. Alone.

Dean would probably become a hunter again for Sam's sake, and maybe one day they would meet again, but the circumstances would not be that great.

Castiel stood from the bed and moved to stand in front of Dean, straddling his legs and sitting on Dean's lap, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and burying his face in Dean's shoulder as he tried to choke back a sob. "Please stay with me for one more day, Dean. I do not want you to leave." Castiel's heart was pounding and his whole body was shaking with the idea of rejection, of Dean pushing him off and leaving right now.

There was several terrifying moments of silence before Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel, holding Cas tightly to himself, but he still said nothing. Castiel's throat betrayed him and he let out a choked sob, "Please," he whimpered, shoving his face deeper into the crook of Dean's neck, "please don't leave me yet. Dean, please." Castiel was beginning to panic and he tightened his arms around Dean, determined to try and keep him here with pure force.

"Yeah," Dean's voice was cracked and rough when he finally answered, "I'll stay one more day, Cas." Castiel's sigh of relief came out breathy and shaky. One of Dean's hands came up to the back of Castiel's head, to wrap itself in his hair. One more day.

One more day.

I'm so so so sorry for the long wait! :c I'm stuck between two options for the next chapter: something smutty/sweet or just innocent/sweet and save the smut for later. I'd appreciate some of your opinions! c: Let me know what you guys want!


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